


Some Kind of Monster

by messageredacted



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 12:40:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messageredacted/pseuds/messageredacted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since Dean died, Sam no longer thinks twice about killing little girls. Takes place after No Rest for the Wicked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Kind of Monster

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written 25 February 2009.

Since Dean died, Sam no longer thinks twice about killing little girls.

When he looks back now on that time before May 2nd, 2008, it’s like watching a movie; he remembers the actions that he took in his life back then, but the thoughts that were running through the head of that movie-Sam are as opaque to him as the thoughts of any actor on a screen. That pre-May Sam, the Sam that was part of SamandDean, that was a completely different person.

He doesn’t know why he hesitated in killing that little girl that Lilith was possessing.

Maybe it wouldn’t have helped. Maybe, when he crept into that little girl’s bedroom, where the girl was forcing her terrified mother to give her a bedtime story, maybe Lilith had already disappeared by then and if he’d killed her he would have been killing just an innocent child. But maybe not. Maybe he could have ended it all right there, and Lilith wouldn’t have been able to collect on Dean’s deal. And when he weighs the two outcomes against each other—saving a little girl or saving Dean—he’s coming down heavily on the latter.

So yeah, Sam can’t bring himself to pity the victims anymore. There are casualties in the war between good and evil and yeah, it sucks but sometimes you have to make sacrifices. If Sam has to make that choice again, he knows which way he would choose.

##

He’s been tracking Lilith for a month now, keeping track of weather patterns and electrical abnormalities and two headed cattle and rivers running with blood and whatever else he can get his hands on. The first thing he does in each new hotel room is tack up his maps, maps of the entire US, maps of the state, maps of the county, maps of the city. He had color-coded markers to scribble down patterns. He spends four hours a day just recording new weather information from the day before. He could become a fucking meteorologist if he wanted to.

She seems to be wandering westward, running whatever demonic errands she needs to run. He traces her route on a map and then lets his finger continue tracing forward. If she keeps moving the way she’s moving, she’ll probably be in Rock Springs in two days. He can make it there by tomorrow morning and set up shop, get a couple things ready for her. Maybe throw a welcoming party.

##

It’s an eight-hour drive but Sam doesn’t stop to stretch his legs. He turns the radio to a pop station and then forgets to adjust it when he moves out of range and the station turns to static. It slowly returns as he approaches Rock Springs, coming back with country music. He finds a motel on the edge of town. When he steps into the room and turns on the light his heart stops in his chest because he’s been here before. With Dean. Maybe a year ago, maybe two. He recognizes the wallpaper patterned with ducks, the bedside table shaped like a mallard.

The room seems to skip a little and then he’s sitting on the floor with his back against the bed, hugging his knees. His consciousness returns from the static, slowly shifting back into place. He gets up, wincing at his stiff back. The clock on the bedside table reads six am, which is off by about an hour and a half because it was four thirty when he drove up. He picks it up and turns it over, finding the dial in the back to change the time.

He falls into bed soon after that, sleeping on top of the covers with his clothes still on. When he wakes up he feels disconcerted, his nose gummed up by all the dust he’s been inhaling from the bedspread. He rolls over and stares at the ceiling until the press of his bladder forces him out of bed.

He showers and shaves and then takes the laptop and heads for the nearest diner for some breakfast. There’s one not too far from the motel and once again he feels a jolt of recognition when he walks inside because of course he and Dean came here when they last stayed in town. He doesn’t recognize the waitress however and she doesn’t seem to recognize him and for that he’s absurdly grateful.

He finds a booth in the back and orders his usual, toast and scrambled eggs, and heads to the usual weather sites. Apparently there was unseasonable hail in Rock Spring last night. He makes a note of that and moves on.

“Here you are, hon,” says the waitress, sliding the plate next to his elbow. He grunts a thank you and when he reaches over to taste the eggs, they’re cold.

Usually he’d let it slide but his nose is still gummed up and his temples throb and the last thing he needs is cold eggs for breakfast. He waves the waitress over again. “Could you heat these up? They’re ice cold.”

She looks from him to the plate and back again, quirks one eyebrow and says “Uh huh.” She picks up the plate and walks away with it.

He combs the rest of the weather sites but apart from the hail there wasn’t a lot of activity going on. That’s okay though because he knows he’s on the right track. Maybe Lilith knows it too. Maybe she’s spooked.

The waitress returns a couple minutes later and puts the plate back down. “Try not to forget them this time, okay?” She heads back to the counter before he can door more than glare at her.

He’s halfway through his eggs when he hears a little girl laugh. His head jerks up so fast that his neck cracks and the eggs turn to chalk in his mouth. Across the room there is a family sitting in a booth, a mother and a father and a little girl. He catches a glimpse of the mother, staring at her husband with a tight-lipped look. The girl has glossy black braids and rosy cheeks and she laughs again, leaning over her paper placemat to scribble something with a crayon.

 _No. Fuck no._

Sam can’t take his eyes off her face.

 _That conniving, manipulative little bitch._

She glances up and her eyes meet his. They’re honey brown, with long lashes. She smiles at him, an innocent, little girl smile, her eyes glittering, and then she goes back to her drawing. Sam can feel his own pulse throbbing in his neck.

He left the knife in the hotel room.

 _She knew I was coming here to intercept her, so she got here first_. No wonder there was no weird weather activity last night; Lilith was hauling ass to get here ahead of him, just so she could sit here in a diner booth and twinkle like a little girl at him and there was _nothing he could do about it._

The girl’s mother shakes her head imperceptibly at something that her husband must have mouthed to her. Then Lilith looks up again and the mother puts on a big, fake smile, leaning over the crayon drawing to point something out in a cheery voice.

Sam swallows his eggs and carefully closes his laptop. He has no weapons. He’s been practicing his exorcisms, but he doesn’t think that’s going to work on her. All of this fucking preparation and here he is, sitting with a plate of eggs.

He pushes his plate away, feeling the eggs congealing into a hard lump in his stomach. When he glances back up at the family, his heart stops in his chest. They’re gone.

He shoots out of the booth and rushes to the door, flinging it open and stepping onto the street. No one on the sidewalk. There’s a blue minivan disappearing down the street. Could that be them?

Back in the diner, the waitress is wiping down Lilith’s table with a damp rag. She eyes him dubiously. He gives her a smile and rubs the back of his neck.

“Do you know who those people were?” he asks her in his best sheepish college kid voice.

She does not appear impressed. “Why?”

“They, uh.” He glances over his shoulder at the door and makes a vague hand gesture. “They dinged my car on the way out of the parking lot. They probably didn’t notice that they’d done it. I mean I wouldn’t point it out except it was my brother’s car, and he was kind of obsessed about keeping it mint…” The knot that expands in his throat is entirely real and the waitress softens.

“Yeah, I know the family. You want me to give them a call?”

He shrugs. “If you just give me their number, I can call them.”

She wavers, then nods, apparently unable to think of anything untoward he can do with a phone number. “Sure, hon,” she says.

He returns to his table to pack up the laptop. When he pays at the register, she gives him a slip of paper with a phone number on it.

“Thanks,” he says with a smile.

##

It’s not hard to find the name of the family with the phone number. He googles the number and then uses a credit card to buy the information online. Doug and Val Hubbard live on Pine Street. He gets the address, mapquests it, and then he begins to prepare.

Lilith must know that he’s coming. She went to the restaurant to taunt him, to let him know that she’s onto his plan. She has to know that he’ll find where she’s staying. He can’t underestimate her.

But he’s prepared for this day for months. He has mulled over this very scenario every night when he can’t sleep. What he’ll do. How he’ll kill her. He keeps the knife sharp.

She knows her flashy lights can’t kill him, but anything else can. He’s only human after all. She’ll be surrounded by demons in all of the neighboring houses but she’ll keep the parents alive and untouched. He knows that she enjoys watching their terror as they realize that a monster has violated their precious daughter, that their neighbors are possessed and unable to help, that anywhere they turn, she’s waiting for them. This is her pattern.

##

The house on Pine Street is only a ten-minute drive from the hotel. It’s in a quiet suburb, a place that was built probably a couple years ago. All the lawns are smooth as paint and the trees are scrawny saplings strung with wire to keep them straight.

Sam passes the house once, driving slowly, keeping his eye out for neighbors. He’s in a rental car now, because the Impala is far too recognizable. He wants to at least maintain the illusion of surprise, even if Lilith knows he’s coming.

One neighbor is riding a lawn mower over his lawn, leaving neat lines in the grass. He glances over at Sam as he passes. Sam meets his gaze. The neighbor raises a hand in a lazy wave, a smirk hovering around the edges of his lips. Sam wants to bury his knife in the man’s throat. Instead, he does a three-point turn in the street. The blue minivan is in the driveway of the Hubbards’ house. The front door is half open as if in invitation.

This is it. He checks his seatbelt.

He hits the gas.

The rental lunges towards the raised ranch. He hits a section of lawn and clumps of grass spray past the window, and he keeps the pedal to the floor. One tire hits the steps before the other one does and the whole car lurches and Sam slams into the driver’s side door. The airbags go off then, billowing into his face with a punch of air. Even though he expected it, it’s still shocking. The car flies for another length of time that Sam is incapable of measuring and then it smashes into something and grinds to a halt.

The noise of the crash fades and is replaced by a woman screaming. Sam peels his face from the airbag, fumbles with his seatbelt, and shoves the door open. Amazingly it does open, though there are only a few inches of space between the door and the wall. He squeezes out and takes the knife from his belt. He has no time to check himself for injuries, but it doesn’t matter.

In the haze of dusty and smoke, Sam sees the father pinned to the wall by the car. He is slumped over the hood of the car. It’s hard to tell if he is dead. Sam turns to the sound of the screaming and sees the mother, both of her hands clawing at her own eyes like she’s trying to unsee something.

Lilith stands next to the woman, staring at Sam. She looks, well, startled. She couldn’t possibly have expected him to do _this_ , Sam thinks with a vicious triumph. He doesn’t give her time to recover from the surprise. He throws the knife.

This, too, he has been practicing. It’s not weighted for throwing but it sails through the air, steadied by his telekinesis, and when it hits, it hits hard. The tip punches through the girl’s neck hard enough to jerk her body backwards. Her arms flail comically. Her expression hasn’t changed yet. She falls over backward, limp as a rag doll.

Sam waits for the shuddering red sparks but they never come. He advances, wary, and now the woman’s screaming has changed pitch. She’s uncovered her eyes and she’s looking at Sam now, looking at Lilith. She throws herself at Lilith’s body, covering the body with her own.

“Get away, she could be faking it,” Sam shouts at her, though she doesn’t seem to hear him. He reaches down between the woman and Lilith and yanks the knife from Lilith’s neck. Her body lolls, eyes still open, expression still startled.

“Becca,” the woman sobs, rocking the body. “No, Becca, no, no, no.”

Sam slams his fist into his own thigh in fury. Once again, Lilith has escaped. She must have left as soon as the car hit the house, while he was still stunned by the airbag. Last time she left just as he was kicking down the front door with a powerful blow. The time before that, she’d had time to escape when she and the mother barricaded themselves in the bathroom. He’s still not fast enough at this, and while he’s trying, innocent people are dying.

Still, he’s getting better.

There are sirens in the distance, probably called by the neighbors. Sam wipes his knife on his thigh and goes out the living room into the kitchen. There’s a back door here and he leaves the house through it. The police will just hold him up, ask annoying questions. He doesn’t have time for them. They don’t understand. He breaks into a jog.

##

When he gets back to the hotel, there are a few updates about demonic activity in the area on his RSS reader. He adds them to his maps as he begins to pack.

Apparently the diner where he ate this morning reported blood running in their faucets. He feels a little relief at that. Sometimes he gets a little nervous, wondering if he’s getting a little obsessive about this whole thing, reading demonic activity into places that it isn’t. But blood running in the faucets—that’s demonic. If that’s not a sign that there was something evil in the diner when he was there, Sam doesn’t know what to think anymore.


End file.
